


Everpanther Gallery

by foreverpanther



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:38:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverpanther/pseuds/foreverpanther
Summary: Collection of prompts (tumblr or ao3 comments) i receive for the ship everpanther. :)





	1. Sunspots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @marvinhere on tumblr  
> Shuri watches as T'Challa freezes at the sight of Everett.

T’Challa walked purposefully into Shuri’s lab. He found the room empty and made his way to the medical area where he saw his little sister projecting a hologram, a look of mild concentration on her face.  
He followed her gaze to the hovering hospital bed where Everett Ross sat, dressed in the standard blue hospital gown, the fabric down to his knees and close to his neck. They hadn't noticed T’Challa walk in, and he decided it better to not interrupt Shuri while she worked or she’d give him an earful.  
“Show me your back.”  
Shuri instructed. If walking in didn’t alert them of his presence, departing would certainly do so. T’Challa stayed put.  
Everett gave her a quizzical look.  
“How old did you say you were again?”  
“Old enough to save your life twice in a week. Go on. Don't worry your pale skin won't blind me.”  
T’Challa had to suppress a laugh at his little sisters unfiltered remark. Everett relented and undid his robe, just from the back. His pale skin bled through the sea of blue and T’Challa felt less like an innocent fly on a wall and more like an unwanted eavesdropper. Everett had faint bruises on his back, a result of his part in the plan to stop Killmonger from escaping with Wakanda’s weapons. Beyond that he had small moles dotted on his pale skin, spots formed from the burning sun. His skin looked soft and plush, like it would easily mold under his fingers.  
“Are you enjoying the strip tease big brother?”  
T’Challa immediately diverted his gaze from Everett to his little sister, his face going flush. Shuri looked from her brother to Everett and back again.  
“Your Highness.”  
Everett’s voice brought T’Challa’s out of his state of stupor and back on him, and T’Challa watched as Everett twisted his body to face him from across the room, hands adjusting his gown from behind.  
“I didn't know you and Shuri had an appointment.”  
T’Challa didn't know what to do but stare at Everett. His legs were exposed and he looked young sitting in the hospital gown.  
“The king does not need an appointment. He’s the king.”  
Shuri responded to Everett, who gave up on getting a response out of T’Challa.  
“Anyway you can go now. Can't you see he has an important meeting with me.”  
“Yeah i’m sure deciding who gets the tv remote will make all the front pages tomorrow morning.”  
T’Challa smirked at Everett’s remark.  
“This one thinks it’s funny. Brother tell him he can't speak to me like that i am a princess.”  
T’Challa gave Shuri a look of ‘don't worry about it’ and she rolled her eyes. Everett got up, taking a pile of his day clothes and making his way out the room. Just as he was about to leave he dropped a comforting hand on T’Challa’s shoulder.  
“I want to thank you again for letting me stay here.”  
T’Challa’s eyes fell on Everetts hand, and it took him well over a second to respond with a curt nod before Everett left. He looked forward to his little sister, who saw the little exchange.  
“I’m going to tell Nakia.”  
T’Challa gave her a look of ‘don't you dare’ and she laughed to herself.


	2. Penultimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @jordanecdotes on tumblr  
> T’Challa and Everett are ex- fiances who run into each other after a long period of separation (where their emotions and stubbornness get in the way of them being happy.)

T’Challa nearly stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Everett, sitting at the casino table. He looked the same as he remembered. Handsome and well put together. Alone. He walked over and greeted him in a way that ensured Everett would follow him to. T’Challa was confident in his walk and in his words. Everett responded in his usual unabashed way, but T’Challa knew their reunion would be brief and wouldn't allow time for either of them to really talk.  
“Trust you to finally reach out when I’m in the middle of important business.”  
Everett blurted as T’Challa led them to a more private area, trying to be quick considering Klaue could come in any minute.  
Everett told T’Challa what he was doing there, practically ordering him to back off Klaue until he got what he needed.  
“You are joking. The CIA?”  
Everett cocked his head to the side.  
“A boys gotta eat.”  
T’Challa grew impatient with Everett’s foolish carelessness.  
“This is not a game Everett. This man-”  
“Is the most dangerous threat Wakanda’s ever faced. I know.”  
“Then leave him to me.”  
“With all due respect Your Highness.”  
He had leaned into T'Challa's ear as he said it, knowing it would be a bitter reminder of a past they once shared.  
“Don't call me that.”  
“Why? You're on foreign soil, your rules don't apply here. And they certainly don't apply to me.”  
T’Challa held Everett’s gaze.  
“T’Challa, what is the hold up?”  
Nakia spoke into the earpiece with a plastered on smile and careful gaze as she surveyed the casino.  
“We might need to compromise with the American.”  
Everett lifted his brow at T’Challa’s words.  
“Now who's name calling?”  
T’Challa caught the hurt in Everett’s eyes beneath his cucumber facade.  
“Nakia. Okoye. Tell me when you have eyes on Klaue.”  
T’Challa gave a cautionary glance around, making sure no one was listening in on them, before turning back to Everett.  
“Do what you need to do. I won’t be a part of it. Afterwards Klaue is mine.”  
“Now you're sounding like me.”  
Everett deadpanned and T’Challa shook his head, discouraged.  
“You enjoy making me feel this way? You think it was easy for me to leave?”  
“Well you certainly didn't shed any tears.”  
Everett swallowed at his own words, and T’Challa could see he was trying hard to suppress whatever emotions his presence elicited.  
“My papa was killed. My home needed me. What was I to do?”  
“Let me take care of you.”  
Everett didn't even skip a beat, his eyes gleaming as he said his words with a soft sincerity. T’Challa felt the world around him freeze and silence, the pain in Everett’s eyes the only thing he could see. T’Challa felt a warm realization in his chest.  
And then Everett was reaching his fist beneath his own shirt collar, wrinkling the fabric as he grabbed hold of something and pulled it out. T’Challa heard a faint clink of metal before Everett brought his fist to his chest. T’Challa instinctively grabbed hold of Everett’s hand, keeping it there.  
“Give it back to me when this is done.”  
Everett stepped cooly passed T’Challa, leaving him to a split second of silence before his radio cut in with the sound of Nakia’s voice. Klaue was here. T’Challa unfisted his hand, looking down at the unmistakable sight of a shiny black ring in his palm.  
“I will.”  
T’Challa whispered before turning around, watching from the shadows as Klaue and Everett faced each other for their deal.


	3. Witblits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @orysbaratheon on tumblr  
> Everett speaking Xhosa fluently to the surprise of others/ T’Challa being proud of his husband.

It was a large room made small by the lifelong bonds the people present had forged over the many years. T’Challa stood proud to be not only the king but a friend to many of the individuals there. He spotted W’Kabi talking to the leader of the river tribe. Shuri was showing off new tech to some of M'Baku’s men. They seemed impressed. His mother sat in a large seating area, indulging in Wakandan politics with some of the other tribe leaders. She looked beautiful. It was a social gathering. Not everyone was present, but T’Challa’s family was there. He decided to be a spectator for most of the night. If anyone greeted him or came up to him to spark friendly conversation, then T’Challa indulged them. Needless to say his mind was elsewhere. That was until around 10 pm. The clearing of familiar a throat to his left practically made his ears perk up. T’Challa gave Everett the due justice of a full head turn. Everett wore a deep purple suit made with fabric from Wakanda and designed with thin silver triangles, glinting in the dim orange light of the room. His hair was combed back and he had a bright smile plastered on his face.  
“Thanks for finally joining us.”  
T’Challa spoke, happy to finally see Everett with him  
“Don't scold me I brought gifts.”  
Everett handed T’Challa a glass of clear liquid. T’Challa sipped, wincing as it trickled down his throat.  
“The bartender said it's the best in the house.”  
Everett spoke as he watched T’Challa’s face scrunch up.  
“And you believed them?”  
T’Challa coughed the drink out of his system and Everett's face fell.  
“I haven't had Witblits since I was a young man.”  
T’Challa laughed and clapped Everett on the shoulder.  
“You need to brush up on your Wakandan culture, foreigner.”  
“Foreigner? I think that drinks gone to your head my friend.”  
They both laughed, Everett taking his own sip of the horrid drink.  
Shuri spotted Everett and left the men to greet him with a little handshake.  
“We didn’t think you’d actually show up.”  
Everett passed a confused look from Shuri to T’Challa.  
“Define ‘we’, I attend parties.”  
“Yeah. Political parties. I haven’t seen you outside of a business suit since you were nearly paralyzed.”  
T’Challa gave his little sister a disapproving look.  
“Were those men bothering you?”  
Everett looked passed Shuri’s shoulder to the two men she was conversing with, whose eyes seemed to keep catching his. Shuri shrugged her shoulders.  
“Nah they're cool.”  
“I don't think they like that we've whisked you away. “  
“Then I should probably get back to them. You know how short the male attention span is.”  
Everett raised his eyebrows, agreeing.  
Just as Shuri turned around the two men began to get up from their seats, walking straight for the trio. Everett could see by their dress that they were M'Baku’s men, but he didn't know their names or recognize their faces.  
They greeted T’Challa as their king, but dismissed Everett altogether, like he wasn't there. Then one of them said something Everett couldn't quite understand. He’d practiced learning the language for the last few months he'd stayed in Wakanda, but he rarely spoke out in public and definitely didn't know every word in the dictionary. He recognized the phrase “you invite” in the past tense, and then a word he couldn't quite place, yet it sounded familiar, like he'd heard it somewhere before only recently. This was followed by words he heard a lot in the meetings he attended. Something about their tribe and Wakanda. He strained his mind in the short seconds after he heard the man speak, watching T'Challa's face change subtly from mild mannered to cold steel. Little forest mice she called it. Earlier that week Everett visited the village where he met a dressmaker to tailor some new clothes for him. He had seen a large green snake in the shadows of the trees on his way over to her. He recounted this to the local woman, who thankfully understood english. She said snakes slithered about and were relatively harmless unless provoked. She said they ate rabbits and little forest mice, like porcupines. Hedgehog. He’d called him a hedgehog. Everett's train of thought had lasted a couple seconds in real time, because T’Challa was barely opening his mouth to retaliate when he interrupted and spoke the little Xhosa he knew, the cheap drink giving him false confidence on his speaking skills.  
“I’d be careful what hedgehog you go after. I've got a panther at my side.”  
The two men turned their attention to Everett, who downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, holding the glass with his left hand so that they saw his ring before he slammed the empty glass on a nearby stand, all without breaking eye contact with them. The men glanced from Everett’s serious expression to T’Challa.  
“You heard him.”  
T’Challa responded in english with an ear to ear smirk on his face. The men proceeded to walk away, glaring at Everett as they passed.  
Shuri looked at Everett with a mixture of confusion and awe. She almost remarked on his Xhosa being nearly perfect, but settled on just giving him a high five and then walked away.  
Everett faced T’Challa with a small smile, watching Shuri leave to join the rest of the party.  
“That was weird.”  
“I wouldn’t say that. Maybe we should skip the rest of the party.”  
Everett eyed T’Challa, who looked to have a permanent smile on his face and a certain twinkle in his eyes. Everett shook his head, laughing.  
“That drink definitely went to your head. Come on. I want to say hi to your mother.”  
Everett took T’Challa’s hand in his and the two made their way across the room, joining the rest of the fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed t'challas line from "what he said" to "you heard him" because it didnt make sense lol. Ps i did steal that line from supernatural


	4. Take Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anon on tumblr  
> A jealous/pining T'Challa.

T’Challa knew he liked Everett. He was smart and tactile and always kept cool under pressure. Of course he wasn't as suave when in Wakanda. People liked to mess with him simply because he was an outsider. It was cute to watch his eyes and posture change when he was listening to someone, trying to figure out if he was given the truth or just another gag. T’Challa thought it made him even more adorable than he already was, and found himself enjoying Everett’s company. Unfortunately he rarely got to spend time with him outside of their business ventures. They traveled a lot together to other countries, mainly the U.S..  
Those were interesting flights. They talked over business on them, about Wakanda’s transition. But they also talked about their personal life too. T’Challa liked hearing about Everett’s family and friends back home. He made sure they had a few hours free time in the states for Everett to relax or visit his family.  
“I cannot imagine a life away from my family.”  
T’Challa told Everett one day on their flight. Everett shrugged.  
“Lots of people in my line of work do it. It's a part of the job. It makes seeing them more special.”  
T’Challa knew Everett had a sister he liked to visit, and nieces and nephews. He didn't have any children himself or a partner. That upset T’Challa somehow. At Everett’s age, it was probably too late to start a family. And family was everything to T’Challa.  
T’Challa realized more and more as the weeks drew on that as king he couldn't always be out of the country, so he was sometimes forced to send Everett off alone. This meant a risk, so he assigned a dora milaje member, Jamia, to protect him on his solo trips. Though already a member, she was much younger than the rest of the women, and the least trained. She did however pose the right skills to act as a personal guard for certain members of importance. T’Challa would have liked to send a more skilled member, but he knew he couldn’t convince Okoye to do it and Jamia needed to get more experience, being one of the youngest members..  
“You don't send her when we go together. Does that make you my bodyguard?”  
Everett had teased as he sat across from T’Challa on the jet. T’Challa hadn't thought of it that way before, but it was a good thought to have. Not that Everett couldn't handle himself, he knew what he could do with a gun.  
“I guess so.”  
Back in Wakanda T’Challa called Jamia into his office. She came in wearing her dora milaje armor.  
“Yes, my king?”  
“Have you had any encounters with Everett when in London?”  
There wasn't a standard of debriefing regarding Everett’s safety outside of Wakanda, so T’Challa decided he should start one. Everett hadn’t said anything about threats to his life or strange situations, but T’Challa hadn't seen him much all week to bring it up. He watched Jamia shift in her stance, and then stand straight again.  
“I don’t think it’s the kings business to know that.”  
T’Challa’s eyebrows furrowed, catching a light flush on Jamia’s cheeks. He must have missed something.  
“I’m starting a debriefing after your trips together in case we need to keep tabs on certain individuals.”  
Jamia averted her gaze, laughing breathlessly before giving an apology.  
”Of course me King I would tell you right away if anything were to have went awry.”  
She left the room shortly after that. Their awkward exchange stuck with T’Challa. She had thought he meant encounters of an entirely different kind. It could have been an innocent mistake in miscommunication, but T’Challa hadn't even caught it until she became defensive. Of what? He couldn't think nothing of it.  
He was scheduled to attend a meeting with Everett the following weekend and decided to invite Jamia to escort them, just to see first hand if their interactions were more than just professional. On the plane he sat across from Everett, and Jamia sat to the side, studying. It was a commercial plane despite them being the only passengers, and at some point a flight attendant came out with a couple glasses of drinks.  
“Gentlemen.”  
She spoke, leaning over to hand the men their drinks. Everett gave a curt thank you and T’Challa gave a nod. Everett took a sip from his drink, seeming to appreciate it with a loud exhale.  
“That is good.”  
He looked to T’Challa, who suppressed his large grin at Everett’s satisfaction.  
“I'm surprised you remember the taste.”  
Earlier that week they attended a small formal dinner where the drink was served along with desert. Everett obviously hadn’t had it before, and he practically got drunk off it.  
“It is isn't it? Delicious. Barrel it out of Wakanda and you’d make a fortune and a half.”  
T’Challa laughed at Everett’s unusual cadence. Just then he winked at T’Challa, so quickly and smoothly T’Challa thought he imagined it. He parted his mouth to say something when Everett began shifting in his chair. T’Challa held his breath.  
“Jamia, come here.”  
T’Challa’s face fell. Jamia set down her book and looked over to them, not quite understanding. Everett held out his glass. She looked from T’Challa to Everett.  
“We’re not permitted to drink when on duty.”  
The Dora Milaje. The nations esteemed warriors. Everett’s face contorted, glancing to T’Challa for some sort of explanation. He decided not to give one.  
“Nonsense have some.”  
Everett smiled, and with no reservations from T’Challa, Jamia leaned over her seat and outstretched her arm. She took the glass into her strong but delicate fingers, and brought it to her lips, her eyes locked with Everett’s. She returned the glass and Everett downed what little was left of it. It was the only indication throughout the whole trip of a relationship between the two, but T’Challa could see in that one exchange that there had been something between them, something still there. He sent her with Everett on more trips after that, only going himself when absolutely necessary. After a month of this he realized his absence was taking a sour toll with Everett, who confronted him about it one day.  
“Is it always going to be like this?”  
They were in T’Challa’s office, after a debriefing.  
“I have more important things to do than attend meetings with you.”  
T’Challa realized he must've sounded like a complete jerk, but he had other frustrations on his mind and couldn’t help how his words came out. Everett paced around before finding a response.  
“I thought you liked our trips. Why the sudden change in attitude?”  
T’Challa sighed. He hadn't had a decent conversation with Everett outside of work in weeks.  
“Is that what you thought? ‘Cause I thought you’d appreciate the gesture in my giving you time to spend with Jamia. Like your wingman.”  
Everett raised his brows in surprise, scoffing.  
“She’s a young girl. She deserves to have fun while she still can.”  
T’Challa wanted to explode.  
“Everett. I understand. I suggest you stop talking.”  
“No I don't think you do.”  
T’Challa could see Everett getting angry and he just wished for it to stop. He looked at Everett with a soft defeated look. They both calmed down. Everett spoke fondly next.  
“She reminds me of myself. She's skillful, driven and smart. She has a lot of potential. And when I was around her age I dove into my work and didn't get a lot of chances to be young and have fun. I’m sorry if that undermines what you’re doing here.”  
T’Challa couldn't believe Everett’s words. He was so blinded by his jealousy, he couldn’t see that their instant connection was because they were the same.  
“I am sorry for lashing out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”  
And then a pause as T’Challa hesitantly continued on the subject.  
“How can I fix this?”  
Everett stared back at T'Challa for a few seconds before grinning ear to ear.  
“I know one way.”  
T’Challa couldn't say he regretted the transpiring events, but somehow getting drunk with Everett Ross wasn’t the worst way to end a month long period of heartache.  
Epilogue: T’Challa suggest Jamia get more training and she quickly becomes one of the fastest learners in the dora milaje, upgrading from a lower level guard to a fierce warrior like Okoye.


	5. Message Delivered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anon on tumblr  
> In which one of the pair thinks the other is dead and is reunited with them, prompting a love confession.

Everett's past few days consisted of pacing around his room, dismissing the food brought to him, and ordering not to be disturbed by anyone who didn't have news on T'Challa's whereabouts.  
T’Challa had gone on an unauthorized solo mission four days prior. It consisted of infiltrating a large drug cartel somewhere in South America. He took his private jet which Shuri was able to track the location of easily, but at some point his location disappeared. She informed the concerned powers that her technology could not have malfunctioned or been manipulated in any kind. If T’Challa wished to not be tracked, it wouldn't be possible. The only way for the signal to be lost would be if the jet had crashed. It didn’t take much deliberation for the council to send the Dora Milaje along with M'Baku’s men to T’Challa’s last transmitted location. On the second day of their leaving, a message received from Okoye. Just as everyone feared, T'Challa's jet was found submerged in a small man-made lake deep in the Amazon forest.   
Everett’s prominent role in overseeing the investigation halted at the news. It had been three days since and no word from Okoye and her team. Everett found himself unable to comprehend why T’Challa would go on such a reckless mission. Even more so, he couldn't bare the thought of not having told T’Challa how much he meant to him. T’Challa was the best man Everett ever knew. And he knew a lot of great men. Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner. T’Challa had the admiration of the entire world and didn't deserve to die alone and away form his home, his people.  
An announcement over his room's intercom broke Everett from his state of pity.  
“Maysa Ibori requests access to your quarters.”  
“Yes, please let her in.”  
Maysa was a mature woman and political correspondent to the river tribe, not a messenger. The tribe leaders decided unanimously to keep the news tight lipped, not wanting to cause a nationwide panic; and since Wakanda was now one of the highest profiled nations in the world and T’Challa was their king: worldwide panic.  
The older woman stepped into the room. Everett admired her hold on the situation. She remained calm and compassionate, advising wisely to the others that though things looked bleak, they needed to stay hopeful together.  
“Have you heard back from Okoye?”  
Everett asked, desperate for any news but the worst.  
“A message got delivered minutes ago. They found T’Challa several miles outside the wreckage. They are three hours away from Wakanda.”  
Everett could feel his hair lighten a few more shades.  
“Oh god please tell me he's alive.”  
“The message did not say. Slight interference with the transmission. Mr. Ross, the message was just delivered, but on further inspection from Miss Shuri, it was discovered to be sent hours ago.”  
“What?”  
“They are approaching the border as we speak.”  
Maysa quickly escorted Everett into the council room, where the others gathered to the window as if awaiting a fireworks display. Everett found Shuri beside her mother, the two clutching each others palms. A young voice from behind called out explaining that weather and foreign tampering caused messages to be delayed or not sent at all, and that the closer Okoye’s team got to Wakanda, the easier their messages were processed. The young woman began to recite these messages aloud.  
“‘We are immediately met with onslaught from foreign agents. We continue on in the shadows.’ The next message we received about T’Challa’s jet in the lake. ‘T’Challa is in critical health and unstable. We have the necessary supplies but need to return quickly.’”  
Everett’s gut sank at the sound of the young girls wavering voice. He could feel his eyes begin to water.  
“‘An attack was waged on our attempt to leave the forest. Several injuries, no deaths. T’Challa remains unconscious.’”  
“When was that sent?”  
An advisor asked, her voice laced with resigned fear.  
“Yesterday afternoon.”  
‘“I see them! The clouds 10 o’clock!”  
Shuri called out, her arm pointing out the glass. The room filled with cries of relief and cheers.  
Okoye’s jet In the distance emerged from the white clouds. The next few hours were a blur. Everett remembered seeing the jet dock and T’Challa be escorted into the bed bay along with Shuri and his mother. Okoye’s team explained what happened upon their arrival, but Everett found himself uninterested in the grizzly details.   
He wasn't permitted to see T’Challa, and that was all he cared about most.  
The tension in his shoulders somewhat eased knowing that T’Challa was recovering safely at home. He couldn't process what might have happened to T’Challa out there, and he didn't want to think about it. The days’ fatigue of stress, no food and no sleep caught up to him. Just hours after T'Challa's arrival.  
As everyone discussed how to break the news to the public, Everett found his vision blurring and body slumping. He didn't even feel his head hit the marble ground or hear the cries of horror as blood puddled over the cool white stone.  
When his eyes fluttered open he was met with a white light nowhere nearly as blinding as the fluorescents of every other hospital he’d been in. He recognized the feel of the blue fabric gown over his body and newfound consciousness brought a dull ache to the side of his head. Everett's face contorted in pain as he sat up.  
“You are clumsy.”  
Everett turned swiftly to his right, his head swimming at the sudden motion. T’Challa laid across from him in his own hospital bed. He looked pale with bandages across his wrist, abdomen and shoulder. Relief eased through Everett’s body.  
“I’m not the one who crashed a billion dollar plane.”  
Everett chuckled at his own remark, sending another wave of confusion through himself.  
They paused to take in each other’s presence.  
“You snore in your sleep.”  
T’Challa spoke softly. Everett couldn't see him from his peripheral lest he wanted another throbbing headache, but he knew T’Challa was smirking devilishly to himself.  
“I do not.”  
Everett defended himself.  
“Yes you do.”  
Everett exhaled, amused.  
“You watch me when I’m unconscious?”  
He turned to T’Challa with a huge smile.  
“Maybe.”  
T'Challa whispered, a bright smile filling his face.  
“That's a scandal for the decade. Attention world: the king of Wakanda likes to undress me while I sleep.”  
“Only with my eyes. Only with my eyes.”  
T’Challa replied, his laugh filing the room.  
A silence filled the room after that, as if they were both waiting for the other to speak up. Everett finally did.  
“You don't have to tell me why you went on your own or what happened. I don’t care. You’re here, you’re safe. That all that matters to me.”  
“I was foolish to think I could go about alone.”  
“Everyone has to find out sooner or later they're not invincible. No matter how much vibranium you have. You’re still human.”  
“You’re the wisest man I know Everett. That is not what I mean.”  
Everett paused, waiting for T’Challa to speak up.  
“What are you saying T’Challa?”  
“That lying out there amidst the hot mud of that forest surrounded by trees and my own blood...I knew that beyond leaving my beloved mother and sister, my beloved nation in my seeming death. I was leaving you behind as well.”  
Everett’s muscles couldn't decide when to end his smile. T’Challa forced himself up, swinging his legs carefully over the side of his bed. He stretched his arm out and took Everett's wrist into his.  
“I was so scared you have no idea...”  
Everett trailed off, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and along the side of his nose. He cried into his free palm, and T’Challa didn't force him to show his face as he slipped his father's ring from his finger onto Everett’s. When the ring pressed against Everett’s knuckle Everett propelled himself forward off his bed and into T’Challa’s arms. T’Challa embraced him tightly, his eyes squeezing shut.  
“It’s okay. I’m here now. It’s okay.”  
T’Challa ignored the medical signs around him of his raised heartbeat and the red stain spreading across his abdomen, soaking the front of Everett’s gown too as they clutched each other. T’Challa heard the medical team rush into the room and the last thing he saw before his vision turned to white was Everett’s newly ringed hand pushing him down on the bed. It was a sight to get used to.


	6. Small Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @niobechris on tumblr  
> Everett’s growing frustration of people assuming he's related to Thaddeus Ross. T’Challa attempts to cheer him up by humiliating Everett's offender.

It was an easy mistake people made. His last name wasn't that common and working in similar departments with another ‘Ross’ made for a valid conclusion. Albeit, a wrong one. It didn’t frustrate him so much that he was confused for Thaddeus’s son or brother or what have you. What bothered him was the people he’d see in passing who would refer to him as a relative of Thaddeus, and he wouldn't get a chance to correct them without coming off as rude or self important. It was the other end of a short stick.  
So after a large board meeting, in which the director of the CIA commended him for his overseas efforts, a man he only knew by his last name Davis, came up to him. Davis worked under Everett in a subdivision regarding distribution of weapons into military based o the west coast. He was on the younger side of thirty and came from an upper class family from the south. Everett found his company less than appealing.   
Davis clasped him on the shoulder and Everett rolled his shoulder back cooly. He hated foux attempts of friendliness.  
“Everett K Ross. You've got the respect of every man in this room.”  
“You're words, Davis, not mine.”  
Everett flashed a toothless smile, to which Davis nodded.  
“Tell me. How many positions did your last name let you skip for you to get here today?”  
“Pardon?”  
“Well women, it’s no secret what they do to climb the corporate ladder. But we have to be smart. Use what we have, or rather don’t have, to our advantage.”  
Everett could feel his anger rise at Davis’ words. If they were in a different setting who knows what he would have done. But he was in a room full of respected leaders, men he’d known for years. He couldn't risk all he’d built over the last 20 years to get to be there, over some ego contest. It wasn’t like he hadn't heard similar comments from other colleagues before. But in his division they were made in jest. Everyone knew the women worked just as hard as the men, if not better considering plenty of them were mothers.   
“I'm here because of the time I put into my work, same as everyone else here. Well I guess not everyone.”  
The foreign relations he was commended for was the transition of Wakanda into foreign military affairs, and so T’Challa stood just across the room conversing with Japan's representatives. T’Challa could see the rising tension between Davis and Everett from the other side of the room. Everett’s pursed lips and turned head. An adrenaline filled glint in his eyes as he listened to words that upset him. T’Challa had seen it before and would see it again.  
He made his way over to the pair. He was the kind of man who demanded all the attention in the room, and he got it. Half the people around him turned to see who he’d speak with next.   
He greeted Everett with a warm smile, one that eased the fire in Everett’s eyes. But only slightly. T’Challa smoothed his hand across the small of Everett’s back before clasping his hands behind himself.  
“Everett. Who is your friend?”  
Everett cleared his throat.  
“Mark Davis.”  
The other man replied with a proud look in his eyes before Everett could let out a breath. Davis held out his hand for T’Challa to shake.  
“Subsidiary branch of the US weapons distribution. We haven’t properly met.”  
T’Challa clasped his hand tightly.  
“Davis. Any relation to Jefferson?”  
Davis flashed an awkward smile.  
“Pardon me. Have I said something wrong?”  
“Do you think you have?”  
The other man retracted his hand from T'Challa's firm grip, a little too forcefully, as if on thinking T’Challa wasn't going to let him go that easily.   
Everett was pleased to watch the wave of fear overtake Davis’ eyes. Davis caught it. Like some mouse trapped in a maze. He scoffed to himself, somehow amused by the whole situation.   
“Oh I see. You bruise your knees for the King of Wakanda, and our boss awards you for it. Clever boy.”  
“The United States will get no hand in the out sharing of my Vibranium tech.”  
T’Challa didn’t miss a beat. Everett’s head turned quickly to him. He knew T’Challa wasn't foolish enough to risk abandoning an international partnership over some petty feud, especially one that didn't even concern him directly.  
“You’re not serious.”  
Davis looked from Everett to T’Challa.  
“When you go to war your weapons will be stones compared to bullets.”  
T’Challa responded, holding Davis’ gaze.  
“You can’t do that.”  
“Apologize.”  
It was an order. Davis scoffed and looked around the room. At least a dozen eyes and double the ears were on him. He was backed into a social corner with a serious consequence that would affect millions if he attempted to escape any other way.  
“I’m sorry. My words were highly inappropriate. I meant no disrespect… Your Highness.”  
“Apology accepted. I look forward to working with you in the future Mr. Davis.”  
Davis looked on, stupified by the whole situation.  
“That’s your cue to leave.”  
Everett spoke up. Davis gave him a half glance before briskly walking out of the room.  
One he was gone Everett stepped in front of T’Challa.  
“You didn’t have to do that.”  
“You had steam coming out of your ears.”  
Everett laughed, shaking his head.  
“Is that right?”  
“As much as it amuses me to see you argue with men taller than you...No man should have to defend his name to inconsiderate people.”  
Everett looked at T’Challa fondly.  
“Maybe we’ll have to see about changing it.”  
T’Challa cracked a smile, threatening to break the stoic demeanor he’d come to be known for during these meetings.


	7. Corner Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anon on tumblr  
> The pairs’ sexual tension after civil war (possible fling), and then addressing it after the events of black panther.

It happened after all the chaos of Bucky and the Avengers. Between the paperwork of Zemo’s incarceration and extradition to Wakanda a sense of compradarie was built between the two.  
So afterwards, T’Challa decided they deserved a little celebration.  
Everett stepped into the elevator of the JCC, letting out a deep sigh as he passively watched the double doors close. Just before completely shutting a hand last-minutely jabbed through. T'Challa's ring hand prompted the doors to open.  
He stepped into the elevator and stood beside Everett.  
“I thought you’d be on a flight to Wakanda by now.”  
Everett asked, conversational.  
“As did I. But I pondered and realized, I had unfinished business here.”  
“Business?”   
Everett raised his brow.  
“Not quite the right word choice. What does a man like yourself do to celebrate such victories?”  
Everett laughed.  
“Have a drink at home. Get to bed at a decent hour.”  
“Perhaps I could thank you for your assistance in Zemo’s extradition.”  
Everett turned to T’Challa.  
“Drinks?”  
Everett questioned.  
“I am not familiar with the bars around here. You’d have the privilege of choice.”  
They reached the bar a short while later. It was small and reminiscent of an old timey tavern with its rustic design.  
They sat at a small circular table in the corner, away from everyone else. It wasn’t very crowded considering the evening had just begun, but there was a good amount of people for the space presented.  
T’Challa waved the bartender over and gave him their order.  
“Everyone's drinks for the next hour are on me.”  
T’Challa handed the bartender his card with a cool look. The bartender was caught off guard, but obliged and left to make their drinks.  
“Are you trying to impress me?”  
Everett asked, leaning his elbows on the tabletop and resting his chin on his palm. T’Challa sat back, leaving a bit of distance between them, not wanting to look suggestive in case they were being watched.  
“That depends. Is it working?”  
“Lets see how my martini comes out.”  
Everett gave him a wink. T’Challa smiled, amused. He looked around the room. Their table was at the far end, so he was able to keep eyes on everyone in case they were met with any threats.  
A different server came by rather quickly (they could've guessed why). She was young, no older than thirty with tanned skin and sandy hair. Her hair didn't fall past her shoulders and she wore a low cut top with dark skinny jeans. She set their glasses down with a bright smile.  
“Enjoy boys.”  
She placed a gentle hand on Everett’s shoulder as she departed.  
“Thank you.”  
Everett responded. T’Challa could see Everett watch her in his peripheral with a tiny smile on his face.  
“Do you come here a lot?”  
T’Challa asked, drinking his glass.  
“Occasionally. If you mean I'm on a first name basis with the bartender then no. I usually just sit at the bar. Get a couple drinks, leave a generous tip.”  
Everett sipped his drink, following T’Challa’s lead.  
“Earlier you said you like to drink at home. That’s a bit lonely, is it not?”  
“I drink alone when I go out anyway. Might as well be comfortable in my pjs when I do.”  
T’Challa laughed.  
“Do you pick up people here?”  
Everett eyed T’Challa, wondering what angle he was playing at.  
“Sometimes. I look rich. The suit’s like a beacon for moths.”  
Everett laughed at his own observation. T’Challa nodded.  
“You? Were you a party prince before now?”  
Everett wondered. Their server returned with new glasses, allowing T’Challa to contemplate his answer.  
“In my younger years. Not too much now that I have new responsibilities.”  
“That tends to happen to people like us.”  
Everett drank, as did T'Challa. They continued to talk through the rest of the hour.   
T’Challa watched Everett absentmindedly play with the residue on his glass, making circles with it into the table.  
“I take it you don't get many chances at down time.”  
T’Challa guessed.  
“That's an understatement.”  
Everett gave a self-deprecating smile. T’Challa gazed at Everett like he was an exotic animal too beautiful to be photographed. It was a shame not everyone saw that.  
“If we were in Wakanda you’d be treated like royalty for what you've done for me these past days.”  
Everett looked to T'Challa like he’d just told him he won the powerball.  
“What?”  
His voice came out a lot quieter than he intended, and the vulnerability in his eyes churned something in T'Challa’s chest. T’Challa could feel his eyes grow dark. Everett’s cheeks were flushed from the drinks.   
T’Challa leaned across the table, stopping just inches from Everett’s face. Everett gave a curt nod and closed his eyes at the press of T’Challa’s lips to his own. It was soft and deep and ended way too quickly for either of their liking, but T’Challa was the one to pull back despite Everett’s reciprocation.  
Everett’s eyes fluttered open to find T’Challa looking back at him with a mixture of confusion and awe.  
“I shouldn't have done that.”  
Everett’s gaze dropped to T'Challa's lips, wanting another taste.  
“No, no. I liked it.”  
“No that’s not...”  
T’Challa froze. He closed his eyes, trying to get the right words out. His head was fuzzy.  
“I mean in public I’m not…I’m a king.”  
Everett nodded, too tipsy to quite understand fully, but he picked up on what T’Challa was trying to get across.  
“We can go to my place?”  
Everett bit his bottom lip cheekily, his eyes warm.  
“You’re tipsy.”  
T’Challa spoke fondly. Everett bought his eyes up to T’Challa’s, a small smile spreading big to his ears.  
“So are you.”  
T’Challa glanced around the room minutely before turning back to Everett. He nodded. Okay.  
The only moment of quiet they were given since that night happened after Killmonger was properly dealt with. Everett stood in his temporary room in Wakanda, overlooking the sunsetting horizon.  
“This was his last view.”  
Everett turned around to see T'Challa standing in his doorway. He gave him a small smile before turning back to the window.  
“I’ve had a lot to wrap my head around these past few days. I never got around to seeing the natural beauty of this place.”  
“You get used to it eventually.”  
T’Challa stepped fully into the room, standing by Everett’s side.  
“I hope not.”  
Everett averted his gaze, in favor of looking at T’Challa.  
“We never really got to talk.”  
T’Challa nodded.  
“I’m sorry for that.”  
“It’s honestly okay. I kinda forgot, not that I could forget. Just distracted by all this chaos.   
He chuckled to himself.  
“I feel like I should have a drink in my hand, but I don't. That’s weird, right?”  
T’Challa broke into a smile.  
“Should I start worrying about signs of alcoholism Mr. Ross?”  
T’Challa asked jokingly, and Everett shook his head dramatically.  
“Oh god don’t call me that.”  
They both broke into laughter. Everett covered his face in his hand, shoulders shaking. T’Challa took the opportunity to lean in swiftly and plant a kiss on Everett’s cheek.  
Everett turned to T’Challa quickly with a knowing smile, holding his gaze.  
“How do you want to do this?”  
Everett bit his bottom lip expectantly. T’Challa simply gestured to the bed.  
“A few feet over there’s a good start.”  
Everett returned T'Challa's smile.  
“Sounds like a plan.”


	8. Bedside Manner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @WayWardWonderer on ao3  
> Everett has a negative reaction to the vibranium used to treat his bullet wound and t'challa has to nurse him back to health.

Everett felt a strong case of deja vu as he blinked his eyes open and was met with a soft white glow of light. The last time he was in this room, he was cured from a bullet to the back, something that very likely would have paralyzed him at the least. Now he wasn't so sure why he was back in that blue hospital gown. Everett's head spun and his back felt on fire. He groaned when he sat up, the room dizzying around him. His legs felt strangely numb and difficult to move. A voice grounded him in reality. A young woman's.  
“Good to have you back Agent Ross. You had us worried there for a bit.”  
Shuri. He rubbed at his eyes. He tried to remember what could have lead him back to this hospital bed. He was gunning down the plane. The crack of the glass in front of him. It was the first time he felt dying for a cause was the right thing to do. He believed in T'Challa and Wakanda. T'Challa.  
“Shuri, did he? Did T'Challa…?”  
His voice trailed off, his breath too shallow to continue. He moved to stand up off the bed, but Shuri stepped over to him with her holographic board in one hand, and her other steadying him on the shoulder.  
“You don't remember much do you?”  
Everett gritted his teeth, not wanting to make any sudden movements. He felt if he did he’d pass out or throw up. And Shuri definitely wouldn't let him live that down.  
Everett remembered taking the jet down. The victory in it. He didn't get a chance to celebrate because the glass was breaking and he needed to leave or else…  
“It all went dark. My legs.”  
Shuri pressed her lips in a firm line and nodded.  
“Your body began rejecting the vibranium since the start. Something in your blood we missed. Slowly at first, but the adrenaline of the day caused the symptoms to spiral out of control. Ayo found you on the ground in the hall. We had a good idea of what had happened once we brought you back here..”  
Everett nodded.  
“How long have I been out?”  
“Just a few days. I suggest staying in bed. You'll likely suffer from a high fever, motion sickness, and occasional loss of motor function in your legs.”  
“Loss of...?”  
Everett looked to the ceiling, suddenly feeling nauseous. He wasn’t sure if it was his anxiety or the actual symptom of his body.  
Everett was “wheeled out” of Shuri's lab and into his room. He was taken on his hoverbed as he referred to it. It was a pretty neat transportation tool, but he prayed internally nor to run into anyone jn the halls. He found the situation a little more than embarrassing. It was as though he was always needing to be saved by T'Challa or Shuri. Which was more than great, but he preferred to do things himself.  
He layed in bed looking at the news on a holographic screen pad he found on his bedside table. It didn't have much world news, and he couldn't read the language. He eventually figured out the language settings and switched it to english. It had the news of Wakanda, which was pretty interesting considering all that happened in the last few days. He found himself reading a story about T'Challa's recent succession to the throne, his father's legacy and all that when a knock at his door interrupted him.  
Everett looked over at his empty plate of breakfast and called out.  
“Come in just leave it on the desk please.”  
He returned his attention back to the screen when the door opened with a smooth whoosh. They came in and set the plate of food on the bedside table like instructed.  
“Thank you.”  
Everett glanced up at his caretaker and was taken aback by the broad shoulders of T'Challa, the king.  
“T'Challa? Y-your highness. What are you doing here?”  
Everett gaped up, fumbling over his words and his manner.  
T'Challa laughed smally at Everett's flustered state.  
“Agent Ross. How are you feeling.”  
“Terrible. But i'm not tripping over my feet anymore if that's any consolation.”  
He smiled with his eyes up at T'Challa. It had been a rough couple days since regaining consciousness, but he was walking as normal. It was really the fever and motion sickness that kept him in bed all day. Everett really did look terrible. Pale, thin and sweat damp.  
T'Challa sat at the edge of the bed, making himself comfortable. He nodded towards the screen in Everett's hand.  
“Anything Interesting?”  
Everett flushed.  
“Oh. Yeah I just… it is actually. Your father was very loved.”  
T'Challa nodded.  
“I must confess I have ulterior motives for visiting you today.  
The suggestive words sent a sliver of anticipation through Everett.  
T'Challa raised his brows to the dinner plate. Everett looked over and saw a little clear tray with two pills in it that he hasn't noticed when T'Challa first came in.  
“You tricked me.”  
Everett teased matter-of-factly.  
“When I suggested coming down here Shuri insisted I be useful.”  
Everett nodded and swallowed the pills down in two dry gulps.  
“Are you okay with staying here?”  
T'Challa asked earnestly. Everett watched him.  
“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.”  
T'Challa nodded.  
“You risked your life taking down that jet. I owe you a great deal of gratitude.”  
Everett shook his head.  
“I wasn't the only one. There were dozens of your people out on that field.”  
“But as you say. They are my people. Obligated to serve me.”  
Everett understood where T'Challa was coming from. It was a crazy thought to think of himself. That he would risk so much for these people. For Nakia and Wakanda. But he knew he'd do it again.  
“I guess that makes me yours.”  
He felt it appropriate in the small dim kit room. T'Challa stared back at him, a small smile at his lips. Everett felt a sense of peace in the moment, like all his illness dulled along with the quietness of the room.  
The moment passed and T'Challa stood abruptly, straightening his shirt.  
“I can stop by first thing in the morning. Escort you to the lab for tests.”  
Everett nodded.  
”I promise to try and not look so dead for the king.”  
He half smirked up at T'Challa, who smiled back.  
“You look a lot better.”  
Everett shook his head in mock disbelief.  
“There's a mirror in the bathroom.”  
T'Challa laughed at that.  
“Goodnight Everett.”  
Everett watched T'Challa make his way back over to the door.  
“Goodnight T'Challa.”


End file.
